


Southern Nevada Wind Farm

by Rambert



Series: The radicalization of Craig Boone [7]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing, Danger, Developing Relationship, Explicit Consent, Fear of Death, Implied/Referenced Sex, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Memories, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mojave Wasteland (Fallout), Monsters, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Novac (Fallout), Panic, Past Violence, Platonic Cuddling, Relationship Negotiation, Running Away, Sex Work, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Technology, Trans, Vomiting, Vulnerability, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rambert/pseuds/Rambert
Summary: Casey and Boone discuss their relationship after a close call at the wind farm. [mild canon spoilers]
Relationships: Craig Boone/Courier (Fallout), Craig Boone/Non-Binary Courier
Series: The radicalization of Craig Boone [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085471
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Southern Nevada Wind Farm

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having an absolute blast looking up stuff about the Courier on the wiki. Did y'all know Bennyfucking is canon?! Cuz it apparently is and dude's got a foot fetish lmao so it took me back to the days where I was desperate for some cash myself and letting some creep (unrelated to the foot fetish, I don't kinkshame) touch my feet... because you gotta write what you know right? 
> 
> *tzekel-kan yell* I, LOVE THIS GAME!!!

Novac has quickly become more of a home to me than New Vegas ever was. Sure, I was born in the city and it'll always be what's most familiar to me, but these past couple months out in the wasteland have turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

I don't even feel the burning desire to get vengeance against Benny any more. I sure used to-- every time my scar would throb from a headache and I touched it through my hair, or every time I met yet _another_ person surprised to see me alive and looking like they'd seen a ghost, I'd grimace and hate the dirty ratfink all the more.

But since Boone came back from Camp Forlorn Hope and we've settled into a comfortable rhythm here, I just... don't care. At this point it's just a waste of two thousand caps I don't even have. My passport to the Strip expired last week on my birthday, and no way am I going through all the hassle of renewing or finding a passable counterfeit just to dig my heel into Benny's neck-- the creep would just _like_ it.

What does the Strip really matter to wastelanders in the post-apocalypse anyway? Mr. House has no real power out here, much as he'd like to believe that he does. And I haven't seen Victor in a while either. Thank goodness, because I don't trust him; if what Johnson Nash says is true then he's the reason Benny got the opportunity to assassinate me in the first place and kinda makes his "good deed" of saving me a cover-his-ass move.

Last time I ran into that cowboy robot on the road, I angrily told him I was on my way to the Tops to kick Benny's ass, so he probably assumes I'm still doing that even though I now have little desire to.

Still loathe that snake Benny though. Definitely hate his guts for what he did to me and how he double-crossed me, after I did that foot shit for him in private years ago when I'd been desperate for testosterone pill cash so I could transition. I'd been desperate for affection too, and believed his wormy promises. Still makes me spitting mad that he's such a damn charming asshole, and that he made me care about him. Made me think he cared about me, too, and that was such a lie.

If it hadn't been for Doc's careful surgeries and sterile procedures in Goodsprings, I never would have survived or healed up this well from that gunshot wound to the brain. It's a miracle I don't have any serious complications from it all besides a wicked huge scar at my hairline-- I'd instinctively ducked when Benny pulled the trigger aiming at my face-- as well as occasional dizziness and migraines.

So I hope Benny suffers every damn day of his miserable cowardly life. But me? I am choosing to no longer suffer. I am choosing to thrive.

\--

"Going to the wind farm again today?" Boone asks me conversationally over breakfast.

Though we still have our separate spaces, Boone and I have become thick as thieves since his return and now share just about every meal together in his room or outside. When he's not spending time with me or sleeping, Boone has returned to helping relieve his old compatriot Manny Vargas up in the sniper's nest of Dinky's mouth. Their friendship is still strained, but much better than it had been for obvious reasons.

"Unless there was something else you'd rather I help you out with, yeah," I say, nodding.

"I only got one of the windmills fixed yesterday and there's eight of those bad boys total. Just imagine the increased output the grid could have if I got them all working..."

"It's dangerous out that way," Boone says for the second time in as many days, in a tone that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside from him being concerned about me.

I reach out across the table and gently take his hand with mine; Boone sighs as he visibly relaxes and laces our fingers together.

I haven't attempted to ask for a single sexual thing with him, just in case he is still straight-- and honestly, I'd be disgusted if someone tried to seduce me after knowing my spouse just died horribly so that's another big reason not to do it-- but this kind of intimacy means so much more to me as a demisexual queer anyway.

And it thrills me that Boone isn't backing away from it at all, and even has been initiating it himself sometimes. Not just physical stuff, either-- he got the whole Novac crew to throw me a little birthday party last week despite my insistence that I didn't need one; even Ranger Andy came out of his room and seemed less depressed than usual. It was one of the best birthdays I've ever had, honestly.

In the quiet moments like this I can imagine Boone and I aren't just friends, and that he isn't straight at all. I can start wildly hoping that he'll turn out to be queer like me... but that's his reflection to have and share, and I can't force or rush that.

"I haven't forgotten what you told me yesterday, Boone. If I see anything even remotely suspicious on my Pip Boy I'll leave right away, all right? I promise," I say softly, waiting until Boone looks me in the eyes to squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back before replying, "You better."

\--

The sun gets bright as _hell_ out here reflecting off these metal propellers and windmill panels... I really need to find some goggles for the rest of this project or I'm going to damage my retinas.

Blinking away a dozen green and purple spots, I shake my head and take a deep breath.

"Almost done," I mutter as I pick up a propeller blade that I've taken off to repair and am now re-fitting back on.

It's the last one, and it's being finnicky, and the sun is already starting to sink a bit low for me to get back before dark but if I can just get this done then I'll have finished _four_ windmills today. That'll mean only three left!

In my excitement and desire to pat myself on my back for working so hard, my tired sun-spotted eyes don't immediately notice the blips on my Pip Boy that indicate medium-sized life forms moving about in the distance. Moving quickly...

I snap the propeller into place and give it a spin, closing my eyes for a moment to avoid the glare. It's then that I notice a faint buzzing, and when I open my eyes and see my Pip Boy my stomach wrenches to see _four_ blips rapidly approaching my location. Bloat flies never fly this fast or grouped like this, which means--

Cazadors.

I start moving away immediately in terror, leaving all my tools out, I don't have time to gather them-- they can't possibly get any more damaged by the weather than they are already, and no one comes by here to loot anyway-- because of the fucking Cazadors!! Those tools aren't worth my life.

But it's still too late... they've seen me despite me trying to crouch down in the brush as I move towards the road leading South back to Novac. And while one of them decides not to follow towards the road and hangs back by the windmills, the other three are continuing to fly my way. Fast.

ED-E isn't even with me, getting a routine maintenance scan back at the hotel today... I've gotten too cocky, and now my heart thumps in panic as the buzzing gets louder.

I turn around and break into a full run as I approach the road, panting and trying not to compulsively scream, and I don't stop or slow down until I'm standing in front of Dinky several kilometers later.

My hands fall to my knees and I feel like I'm going to puke from the exertion as lactic acid and adrenaline ravage my system, twisting my insides in agony. My legs and chest are on fire, and I can't catch my breath. I haven't run that long at that pace... maybe ever.

Blessedly the road behind seems clear. But then I vividly remember the hideous damage I've seen Cazador venom from a single sting do to people without instant access to antivenom, and everything goes grey in my field of vision. I hadn't even brought any of _that_ along in my rash feeling of invulnerability that had come on after fixing the Novac grid-- today had been a grisly reality check that the wasteland was never going to be truly safe for humans.

 _There were four of them, three chasing me into the road. I could have died out there if I'd only been a few seconds more distracted_ , is the panicked thought I have right before I immediately gag and puke.

"...Elliott?!" Boone's voice calls down from the sniper's nest, and as I'm spitting to try and get the lingering bile out of my mouth I hear the _clankclankclank_ of him rushing down the stairs and out of the building.

"Elliott what happened?" Boone asks as he drops to his knees next to where I'm crouched, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder.

I sag into him, unable to speak at first as I gasp for breath. That vomiting had been so sudden that it had been extremely painful in many ways, and I'm reeling.

"Cazadors," I wheeze at last.

"Cazadors!? Did they sting you?!" Boone's voice spikes up in concern as he scans me visually for wounds.

"No, just... chased me away... my tools're out there..."

"Are you hurt in another way? Did they bite you?" Boone asks, still on high alert-- Cazadors are nasty big bugs that kill many a wastelander wandering alone.

"N-no, I ran," I whimper, my whole body shaking. "Never ran so far so fast."

"God dammit I _told_ you it was dangerous _,_ " Boone growls, but his body language says the total opposite as he cradles me into his lap away from my puddle of vomit with such gentleness that I nearly cry from it.

"You're not going back there alone," he says firmly, and all I can do is nod against his chest as I try to catch my breath.

I feel Boone's heartbeat under my ear beating rapidly. He's scared too...

"You don't... see any on the road do you?" I ask weakly, still feeling jittery and shaken.

"No," Boone says as he squints into the sunset. "What does your Pip Boy say though?"

I check it and whimper with relief as it definitively states that there are no non-human life forms around.

"Safe," is all I have breath to say, still feeling like I'm going to pass out from that sprint I did.

"Just breathe, try to even out your breaths and slow them down," Boone murmurs as he slowly strokes my back and neck, giving me a thrill of goosebumps.

My eyes slide closed as I exhale through my nose and then breathe in deeply through my nose, leaning into Boone's solid and reassuring presence. I focus on my breathing like he says to, grateful that as a sniper Boone knows more than most people that breath regulation is a giant part of life.

"Thank you," I say a minute later when I stop feeling dizzy, my words muffled into his jacket.

"Hmn. You got some nerve scaring me like this Casey," Boone says in irritation, but his fingers are leafing so tenderly through my hair that it makes me smile.

A near-death experience isn't ideally how I wanted my first time having my hair stroked by Boone to go, but I can't say I'm not enjoying this either.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "I won't go out without ED-E again."

"That's not what I meant by not going back alone. You'll go with me or not at all," Boone says sternly.

"Oh? And you're the boss of me now, are you?" I tease, feeling a bit better.

"You know I'm not," Boone says stubbornly as his fingers don't hesitate even for a moment.

"But I'm also not going to let you get yourself into a situation like that on your own again. I'd never forgive myself."

"All right, Craig," I say quietly. "I'm sorry. Really. I won't go blazing out into the unknown wastes without you."

"That's right," he mutters, holding me securely and resting his chin on the top of my head.

"You're the brains and I'm the brawn Casey, don't you forget it," he adds, and I can't help a chuckle.

"Mm, if you insist," I sigh, in no hurry to get up despite the disgusting taste of vomit in my mouth.

Boone's arms around me make me feel so _safe_ that I want to savor every second.

\--

After taking me to his room to wash up and recuperate, Boone brings down pajamas from my room for me to change into after and we end up chatting long into the night. I find that I'm so exhausted that I don't want to take the stairs back to my bed, and I vocalize this without first considering the ramifications.

"Well uh, you could... sleep here," Boone offers, rubbing the back of his head the way he does when he's a bit nervous or awkward.

"I don't want to impose," I say quickly, "I'll probably be fine to go up in a bit--"

"Don't strain yourself," Boone insists. "It's okay, Case, unless-- _you_ don't want to."

"No, I--" A bunch of things want to burst out of my mouth at once, many of them colorfully referencing the fact that I've been fantasizing about sharing Boone's bed for weeks now, but I have to pick a thought that _isn't_ wildly inappropriate.

"I appreciate the offer Boone, I'd like to spend the night here. Just didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You're one of the few people I've ever met in life who's never made me uncomfortable in a way I didn't need," Boone says as he stands up and walks over to me, extending his hand to help me up from my chair.

I take it, and when I stand up I catch myself staring at Boone's parted stubble-lined lips before I remember I haven't responded to him.

"Ditto," is all I can come up with.

Then Boone is pulling me over to the bed, helping me lay down, and I realize just how _tired_ I really am. Not just from working, but also from the cazador scare. That was too close of a call.

"I'll be back in a bit," Boone murmurs and he moves away to go to the bathroom.

As I listen to the toilet flush and the sink run, my heart starts pitter-pattering in both excitement and anxiety. Does Boone just pity me and think I'm so ill that I can't make it up the stairs to my room after today's incident, or does he actually want to stay close to me? I hope it's the latter.

Boone comes back in his pajamas, smelling like baking soda from brushing his teeth like I've already done. Without his glasses on I see the vulnerability in his exposed brown eyes as he lays down next to me.

"Are you sure this is all right?" I ask quietly. "I don't want this to be weird for you, Craig."

"It's not weird unless you make it weird," Boone says with a prickle in his voice, but when I just keep looking at him he sighs.

"Why do you always have to-- to talk about things so much? Why can't we just... _be_ , Elliott?"

"Because I'm older than you and I have to make sure you really want this as badly as I do," I say in a rare moment of candor, feeling bold in Boone's bed.

And for once, I see a bit of a flush rise to his face-- I only can see it now that his big tinted glasses are gone. Does this happen often when we talk, I wonder, or is it a new development?

"When... you say "want this", what do you mean?" Boone asks slowly, searching my face.

Well, no use pretending I'm not smitten with him. After all we've been through he deserves the truth.

"I mean getting... more intimate. A gradual sort of relationship that evolves from friendship into... something much deeper. But even if you are interested-- and I won't take it personally if you aren't, or change your mind down the road-- I never, _ever_ want to push things with you Craig, even if it means certain stuff never happens. I am so serious about that."

I try not to be sad about him looking instantly relieved at that last bit, and I continue "But to an old-fashioned queer like me, things like sharing a bed by choice rather than necessity means you're committed, and won't just up and leave me when someone prettier comes around."

Boone snorts derisively. " _That's_ what you're afraid will happen? Do you even know me, Case?"

"I'm trying to," I confess. "Sorry if I'm being too verbose about all this but... after many bad experiences with past relationships both romantic and non, I want to be very clear about my intentions."

"You are being clear," Boone admits, his tone and expression softening as he looks at me.

"And I do. Want the same as you," he says, his voice low but earnest.

"I don't know what I can give you, or what will happen if I-- if I try to love anyone again the way I loved Carla. But you're my closest friend out here now, Casey... I'm not going anywhere without you."

"Music to my ears," I sigh happily as I snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes. "I'm feeling better already... thank you for talking this out with me, and for taking care of me tonight."

"Anytime. Just be sure you explain to Manny why I had to leave my post early," Boone says in a tired rumble as he rolls over to turn off the bedside lamp.

"Mm, I will. Goodnight Boone," I murmur in the dark.

"G'night Case."

**Author's Note:**

> as always, any feedback is appreciated and thank you for reading~


End file.
